


French Song

by Laeana



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Feels, Character Study, Communication Failure, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lies, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Secret Relationship, Suffering, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: and if you were a poison, i think i'd still drink you without hesitation.
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Kudos: 12





	French Song

His.

Voice.

Echoes.

Through.

Corridors.

.

.

Walls. I can hear it in my head. I never knew what I was expecting from this. Bad dreams, and what am I ? A child ? 

I stopped being a child a long time ago. Or maybe I didn’t. Maybe I should have. Maybe I’m not what I’m supposed to be.

And here it is. In one sentence, I messed up the whole plot. 

And maybe, maybe ... maybe is a funny word you know. It’s the limit between expectation and let down. The limit between hopes, where everything is still possible, and despair, when there is nothing left.

Before maybe, you are on a boat, in a middle of a calm and serene ocean.

Right after, the boat is trembling, probably is even sinking in a deep and dangerous sea.

What you thought being normal and reassuring is now strange and doubtful. You’re not drinking water anymore; it’s poison. 

Paranoid.

A poison that slowly crawls in your veins, that reaches every of your organs before you realize it. And then it’s the end. And then you’re fully contaminated.

.

.

Never been the type of guy who had plenty of insecurities. I let my dear friend having them for me. I let myself being the one comforting him when he needed and he needed it a lot. I didn’t care though.

I thought it was good to be there for someone, to have people who matters to your eyes. So I kept him close, very close. I would have let him by my side forever.

Growing up, growing up. 

It seems game overturned. Cards have changed. Being careful. Being a driver. Living for this adrenaline in your veins, for the sensation of going fast and nothing else is existing. 

Being a f1 driver is a good solution to forget your problems. Even if it’s only for some minutes, hours. 

Charles was very good at that. It seems like he created an entire character around Formula One. A charming guy, lovely really, a good driver, young but who could proof his value. Ferrari.

But he still needed me. Somehow. He kept having those nightmares, those breakdowns I had to watch. He never explained but I understood. We went through it, as always. Too good. Pretending.

He even got a girlfriend, I got mine. Perfectly fine but he still needed me.

Truth is ... Charles is sick.

And I’m probably sick too for letting him doing that. He’s ruining himself, I’m ruining myself but we both are perfectly fine. How convenient it is.

Maybe it’s ironic to say that but being f1 drivers is probably the worst thing who could happen to us.

The best thing.

The worst thing.

And you know what’s magic here ? Only one word change the whole sentence.

Being thrown into this when we were child wasn’t good. Risks, difficulties, death. We know that too well, we live with death. We are constantly, at every turn, dancing with it.

What taste would it have on my tongue ?

It’s surely crazy. We are all crazy, left broken by the reality and you see that guy who is constantly smiling but what tells you that he doesn’t cry on his pillow, late at night, alone with his memories ?

Everything depends from your point of view. It’s all about aspect. All about perspectives.

You can’t really know people nor understand them as long as you didn’t dig into everything they are. More than just behavior, personality. What is dear to them, what they have given up on.

I don’t know Charles.

I think, I don’t know him. Because I never payed attention to such details. I think I understand him but this is so vague. It may all have been a misunderstanding and I would just be a total idiot in the end.

When I say he is sick, this reflect probably my own problems. I’m sick. Fucking damaged inside but I don’t have time to care about it. Because I need to follow everything everyone is telling. I need to be strong, I need to show who I really am.

Charles is here too, by my side. As long I’m by his side, he’s here. He comforts me but it’s way, way different. There is no equivalent, this is not out of mercy. We cannot pity each other so we just take care of each other, hoping it finally disappears so we can continue to pretend, like every other freaking day of our life.

Don’t tell it’s over yet. Nothing is over. I like to limit thoughts about death to one sentence. The fact everybody really dies when everyone forgot about them. 

Is it selfish to want people to remind about you forever ? 

It’s just a comforting idea. Thing that gives your existence a sense. You didn’t live this life for nothing, you shall be reminded, you are not going to be only one more nameless grave in the cemetery, you worth something. 

Everyone needs that kind of thought.

I need that kind of thought.

.

.

When we talked with Charles, last time, we talked about homosexuality. _Why can’t we simply walk out, hand in hand, without anyone to care ?_ And it was such a pleasant idea, obviously naive, but pleasant idea.

I bite my tongue to stop myself from answering. **But, Charles, mon cœur, it’s not why we can’t go out like that. How could you handle remarks and people tainting the so-called-perfect reputation you created yourself ?** I didn’t need to waste such a sweet moment, I believe we would have other opportunities.

We do, in fact.

Switched team. Self-estimate lower than everyday. Need to come back, need to be stronger. Charles who doesn’t understand, such a sad story but always the same story with us. Same boat, same shipwreck. **Le Titanic.**

Wanted isolation, wanted to be left alone. He holds himself to me. He comes back to talk. More talk, always talking, when words are so useless. When words heal nothing. 

Such a lovely smile, such arms he wrapped around me slowly. _I’m sorry, I can’t understand everything. I’m an idiot. But I still love you, and I don’t want to leave you. Let me stay by your side. So easy._ So, so easy for him to be lovey-dovey.

I know how to read between lines, I go simply. _I know, Charlie. That’s okay, I love you too._ I know the monegasque will never be able of such an empathy, i know he’s afraid of losing me. I know he’s afraid I leave him, not that he leaves me. Afraid I won’t stay by his side.

Let’s search in memories. Deeper. Or more recently. Why not. 

Brasil. I’m on fire, certainly on fire. My first podium after such a year, it is truly amazing. I’m amazed. Something lighten in my glance, I fly.

And then Charles got a really bad race. I need to balance, I don’t know how much I can do. Checking him by messages, going to see him right after at his hotel because he gave me the pass and the code to access his room.

Obviously he’s not happy. I never thought he would be. Even for me. And he still forces a smile. _Oh. Well. I was wondering if you would come or not. Congrats again, Pierre. Congrats. It must have been good after everything._ It is correct, decent. What I expected, nothing less nothing more. Nothing really sincere.

I sit by his side, he rolls into my arms. I just hope that he will not go fucked himself up by frustration in somewhere inappropriate. Because, for god sake, it would be hard to catch him in a city I don’t fully know. _Can I stay here ? With you ?_ The most simple way to keep an eye on him.

_What? You want a reward ?_ And he seems bitter while saying this. I know I need to return things quickly.

_No, I just really missed you._ Almost entirely true. We didn’t have time to see each other properly those latest weeks. And Charles buys it and soften a bit.

And I played diplomacy once again. Not showing how disappointed you are, your resentments. And everyone thinks you are pretty much okay. This isn’t about me, this is about my sweet childhood friend.

And don’t get mistaken here, it is not a story about love. It’s a tale about self-destruction and diseases. About despair. About how to end a life.

.

.

You see, since the start, I define how maybe may be a word disturbing. But also, since the start, I stopped using it. Using alter ego.

I don’t need “maybe„ to express uncertainty. 

This story is only hypothesis, wonders, thoughts I mislead and that end up being there. Right under your eyes. And I’m the one averting you to always look further than just an impression, than just a smile, a mask.

.

.

The radio passes an old French song and I whistle along the music. I try not to think about how domestic is this life, about how I woke up every morning, next to Charles, to ended up sleeping every night, next to Charles.

I watch over him during this break. We train, we eat, we laugh together. All day. But this shouldn’t be me, this shouldn’t be my place, this is the place of his girlfriend. He doesn’t call her, he doesn’t answer his texts and I should say something but I don’t have the heart to.

I now I could get used to this and this scares me more than anything. Because everything is pretty fine, that’s normal, we’re away from our sport, from our life, from adrenaline.

Soon as we will enter in it, once again, soon as we will be tearing apart.

I know both of us too well. I always know what to do. How to take care of us, how to hurt deep down, in silence. How to shut my mouth and back down when it is needed. Or when I’m not needed.

I know how to handle my friend’s avoidance even when it really pains me. I know how to open my arms when he comes back and has bad moments. I know how to thank the one I call “girlfriend„ but who is actually my friend for helping me around. 

Charles is a social butterfly and he knows how to extend with everyone. Even with unfriendly drivers, even with his rivals. How lovely it is to see him laugh and smile with Max. And I don’t have this deep feeling in my stomach, at all.

Or with Daniel. But it is easier with Daniel since Daniel is really easygoing with everyone, and pretty much tactile, and then I just look away because that’s enough for me.

.

.

I told it. This isn’t love. Because love is mutual, love isn’t pain, isn’t waiting. At least there is something in exchange of all of this. A reward. I would never have. 

.

.

So I whistle along the song, who slowly comes to its end. And I wonder when these days will come to an end too. I’m starting counting the days off and sadness does its work in my mind. 

Two arms wrap around my waist and I don’t turn, I just continue my routine, and we stand in an embrace, just the two of us.

_Je veux mourir malheureux pour ne rien regretter._

Final notes. A short silence. The moment ends too. I detach myself and just move to find those lovely green eyes. He doesn’t belong to anyone, more than everything, he doesn’t belong to you. He’s wild and free and that’s probably what makes him so beautiful. He will break your heart in one blink.

Competitive, savage, childish, glamorous, pretty, adorable.

Such a waste.

.

.

_What do you want to eat today ?_ I let out because I need to get away from this situation before I do something stupid.

But Charles doesn’t answer, only looking at me from a way I can’t describe. Sweet, but dangerous.

_You._ He finally says, a bit of amusement tracing a smile on his lips.

It seems like something explodes between both of us. Every inch of restraint disappear and we found ourselves quickly in the bed, very naked.

And I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t do this. This is bad. You’re gonna regret that.

I enjoy it as much as I can. I don’t know what he feels, I don’t know how many person he slept with during the nights I wasn’t at his side and I think I wouldn’t like the truth so I don’t ask.

In the end it’s just the two of us. In a room, left alone. 

.

.

His.

Voice.

Echoes.

Through.

The.

Corridor.

Through Walls. 

In My Own Head.

Only.

  
.

.

Very noisy it has been. But I can’t get rid of those feelings nor can I get rid of those sounds I extirpate from him. 

We’re so fucked up. 

We’re a mess.

Together we are only a waste of what could have been good persons, good drivers. Healthy. 

Oh god, did we even know what this word means ? Did we even learn that word ? The only thing I believe have learned is how to pretend.

Maybe one day pretending will really fix things. Like you know you pretend everything is okay and suddenly it’s magic and everything is really okay. 

I still like the word maybe. I still like the fact I’m always coming back to the same idea. A ridiculous love this story doesn’t need, a needy friend and a disbelieving narrator. Yup.

.

.

_Do you think we deserve a happy-end ?_ whispers my monegasque one day, while we’re laying on the grass, really close from coming back in f1.

_Why not ? I mean, everyone deserve to be happy. So do we._ The answer comes almost automatically. Not even analyzed before.

_No ! That’s not what I meant. Does we deserve an happy-end ... together ? Without being separated. It’s..._ Charles suddenly shuts up, looking a bit down, unsure of what to say exactly.

_What do you want me to say ?_ It’s always about that. Always about what I can say and what I cannot say. Nothing more, nothing less.

_The truth,_ he almost seems to beg. Eyes lost somewhere far away. _I just want the truth, only the truth._

_Yes we deserve it,_ my voice is hoarse, words are coming to my mouth spontaneously. They hurt me and I know they are gonna hurt him. _But that doesn’t mean we will have it._

Charles stands up and suddenly leaves. I sigh and go after him. Staying by his side in silence, pretending not to notice frustration’s tears in his eyes.

.

.

The season starts once again. Short break that never last. One day it will last forever, but this day is not even close from us so we just continue. Again and again.

I can’t be as close as I was from Charles and suddenly he brings up his girlfriend as if nothing happen. I feel like a third wheel. I can go away now, he doesn’t need me anymore. 

He will come back when he will need me again.

Get used to it.

I feel like a tool. Do I always felt like this ? This remind me something my mother used to listen often at home and without wanting it I start humming this song. Daniil gives me a strange look.

_What is that ? This sounds familiar ?_ He finally spoke after some minutes.

_I don’t think you know this song, it’s an old French song._ I answer with a smile, leaning my head a bit, relaxing my neck.

_You could be surprised, say it ?_ He asks and I simply raise my shoulders.

_« Comme ils disent » from Charles Aznavour._

_I’m pretty sure I know the singer, isn’t that a song with a deep meaning and pretty dramatic ?_

I laugh when I heard this answer because this seems like a good memory of the lyrics and at the same time it’s really vague.

_Clarify your thinking ?_

_Daniil !_

A voice comes from outside and the Russian excuses himself before heading out. Left alone, I close my eyes, sinking my back in my chair, almost ending the song. Bit of sadness errands through me. I feel like I understand what it is talking about, I feel concerned.

_Je suis un homme oh, comme ils disent ..._

.

.

Charles is back as the beautiful, the magnificent driver of scuderia Ferrari. Wearing proudly a bright red. Smiling with all the charism he has. The perfect gentleman, the perfect man, the perfect husband. A womanizer. A man who is publicly affirmed as heterosexual. That everyone loves and everyone dreams about.

This is who he is. Or at least who he is supposed to be. 

Charles you are a poison. As well as uncertainty is. You’re the poison I can’t stop drinking, licking each sip with impatience and despair.

We fall always deeper in despair.

Even if we try to stay reasonable, even if we try to think about what is the right thing to do. About what we aren’t allowed to do. All we are are going through ...

.

.

It is currently two thirty in the morning. In the toilets of some obscure nightclub I achieved to found thanks to Charles’s phone. Thanks to the messages he send me, totally drunk. It was enough for me to come. Luckily, I was still in Monaco. He needs me. And he doesn’t. And we are creating this needy relationship none of us want. And I hate myself. Fuck.

Season started again. What did you expect ? Everything is the same and nothing ever change.

I found him sitting on the ground in some sorry state. I never find him in a good state. There has always been something with him. Excessive consumption of drinks, wounds he got gods only know how, while wandering in Monaco’s dark streets. Even drugs sometimes. Drugs.

I’m always scared about how I will find him and in which state.

_Pieeeeeeeerre ! You came, my love !_ He exclaims with a big smile on his face. _I was wondering if you would pick me up or not._

_Come. It’s time to go._ I just say, pulling his arm.

_Why ? We have fun here, lots of fun. There is even a guy who gave me good stuff. He said I would feel soooooo great ..._

I freeze. I look at his eyes. Dilated pupils. Nothing reassuring. 

_Love ? I’m a bit tired okay ? I need you to come with me._

_Ohhhh you’re tired ? We need to go home then. Let’s go home ..._ answers quickly his childhood friend, his mentality closest from a four years child than from the twenty-two years old man he is.

He follows me after that, his hand in mine. He doesn’t want to let go of me. 

He started again. Each time, he’s making promises. I will never do that again, I swear, I’m sorry Pierre, really sorry.

But he never respect it. 

He respects it whenever we are out of driving. He behaves bravely, like the guy he is most of the time. Nicely. 

But then formula one comes out again and everything begins. Going out very late at night, staying up until the sun replaces the moon, wasting himself over every shitty thing that can be found during those excessive evenings. 

Formula One is killing us. Slowly but surely, piece by piece. It is damaging everything we are and everything around us. We are becoming poison and we are contaminating everything and everyone and everywhere.

The worst part is that he will never stop driving and I can’t stop him from doing it.

And I will never stop driving and he can’t stop me from doing it.

.  
  


.

The music keeps playing in my head, like a symphony of thousand words put in only few sentences. Like a story who is been told. To me. To you. To everyone who is willing to lend an ear.

.

.

His.

Voice.

_Je me couche mais ne dors pas, je pense à mes amours sans joie, si dérisoires ..._

Echoes.

Through.

_À ce garçon beau comme un dieu, qui sans rien faire a mis le feu à ma mémoire ..._

The.

Corridor.

.

.

I found him in his bathroom. Trying to stifle his sobs, failing because it’s pretty noisy. Eyes exploded by his own tears, red and still watery. His body shivering, as if it is about to break. His hair is a mess. His face too. But he is still beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. In a way no one ever sees him and will ever see him. In a way I know secretly. Far, far, really far away from the perfect Ferrari driver.

I know him, he knows me. That’s why I knew I would find him here now that the season has ended, really ended. Now that we are supposed to turn ourselves towards what will come next. Later. The pressure lower, he felt free. He felt guilty. He felt ... himself again and he couldn’t bear it. And he didn’t dare calling me once again because he was feeling bad - for me maybe. 

Even if he doesn’t have enough empathy to do that. He had lose me. At some point.

A sigh passes my lips as I move towards him slowly and remove the blade from his hands. He looks at me, surprisingly calm. Fatalist. 

I hesitate before caressing his cheek gently, softly and Charles draw near to me, whispering to my ear.

_If you love me, then please ..._

It is a short moment while I see him, entirely and he sees me, entirely. So different. Why were we so able to understand each other ? I wonder ...

_Kill me._

And Charles places his throat against the blade.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry i'm sure i just killed english at least a thousand times. It seems like my brain at three am doesn't work correctly but gives me inspiration ... what kind of world am I living in?  
> It's just me listening to old suff and feeling nostalgic about an era I didn't even know. but, welp, I had some things wrotten here and there, sentences, the end of a piece of writing i had the idea long time ago and then i started writing and writing in some obscure application on my phone. I finally understood i had to link the two.  
> I don't write usually at the first's person pov, i hope you still enjoyed what i just did and it seems like i like too much writing about Charles and Pierre and making them suffering ...  
> ̶s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶?̶


End file.
